


for better, for worse

by doreah



Series: blackout [1]
Category: Episodes (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Break Up, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Depression, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, Miscarriage, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Unplanned Pregnancy, why must i make them so sad? i just want them to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-22 22:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14318424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: the thing nobody really bothered to tell carol was how quickly it all could be over.





	1. californian cinderella

**Author's Note:**

> What do I want for Carol/Helen? To live happily ever after in perfect harmony with a dog. So, naturally, the best way to accomplish this dream is to do the exact opposite. I don't know why. I can't help it. This is the worst Episodes fic I've ever written and the complete wrong way to be happy. 
> 
> And look! I didn't retcon the pregnancy this time! Instead, I made it terrible and sad. You're welcome.

“Stop _that_.”

 

The voice hissed from her left and an elbow provoked a sharp pang of pain in her ribs. Above, the fluorescent lights made everyone look a little bit green and nauseated. Maybe that was just the boredom and hangovers from the previous night.

 

“What?” she whispered back, trying to ignore the command, her blue eyes darting around the crowded space, unfortunately seeing mostly the backs of heads.

 

Andy Button scoffed and raised an eyebrow which she attempted to ignore as well. “You know.” He whispered fiercely like it was some sort of governmental top secret. It was a bit melodramatic considering the seminar hadn't even actually started yet and literally nobody cared what anyone else was saying. People were still filtering in slowly, finding whatever free seats were left and casually engaging in the most arduous sorts of industry small talk. God, she hated these conferences.

 

“No, I don't,” she stated clearly, flipping a hand dismissively in his direction as her gaze fixed on a crowd of more grey-haired television executives entering the venue.

 

“Oh, please," Andy growled, his amusement slipping out just a little. “The ex scope.”

 

“The what?” Maybe if she hadn't sounded so preoccupied her case would be stronger but as a brunette woman in a fitted black blazer took a seat a few rows ahead of them, she cocked her head to see better.

 

Andy pointed at her and wagged his finger a little too close for comfort. “This. This stalker-y thing you're doing right now.”

 

Offended, Carol scowled and tore her stare away from the people milling about around her. “I am not.”

It was a force of habit to look down at the phone in her lap, hoping for a message—anything—to distract her enough not to pay attention to this asshole next to her, or the sea of assholes all around her. A grimace passed over her face as she peered down at her new, horrible phone. This stupid smartphone-camera-arcade-library-computer thing that the network insisted she replace her ancient Blackberry with. She missed her Blackberry, too much. At first it had seemed like a small price to pay for becoming head of one of the country's top 3 national broadcasting networks. However, on days such as these, she wished for nothing more than her trusty, not-smart smartphone from yesteryear. Things, including phones, seemed so much simpler and less threatening back then. Back... 7 months ago. Was it only 7 months? Holy shit.

 

“Like, okay,” Andy began again. “I know this is probably very traumatic seeing as how you've slept with half of the people here—”

 

“Hey!” Could he speak to her like this? She was his damn boss now, not his BFF.

 

“No judgment! Just jealousy,” he quickly added, attempting to diffuse his new boss' ire before it really began. “But I mean, you should be used to it by now. And besides,” he lowered his voice to barely audible, but still full of glee. “I don't think _she_ is going to be here.”

 

Carol rolled her eyes, trying to shake off whatever juicy bits of her personal life he thought he'd taken a bite out of. It didn't quite work and she shuddered, quite obviously, instead. “She who?” Feigning ignorance had never been a particularly notable strong suit of hers.

 

He smirked, that stupid dumb smug look of his that he used at least 14 times an hour. Like he just knew absolutely everyone's secrets, no matter how well-hidden they were meant to be. “She who. Oh, come on. You know who.”

 

With a sigh, Carol leaned back in her seat, glancing up at the plain grey ceiling and its consistently boring grid pattern. There was really no use in pretending with Andy. She never really understood why anybody bothered since he knew everything anyway and she'd spent, in total for all the years at the same office, probably something equivalent to six months idly gossiping with him about everybody else in the office. Actually, six months on just Myra alone maybe. Just because she was the president of the network, and he was her second in command now, it didn't really change their dynamics at all. (Perhaps that wasn't a great thing.) “Why wouldn't she be?”

 

He shrugged in that lavender sweatervest thingie. “I don't know. I was just saying that to make you feel better.”

 

With a snort, Carol glanced around the room again, trying to catch a glimpse of that chestnut hair tone she was so familiar with. The hue that she could still remember fanned out on white pillows, the smoothness she could still feel threaded through her fingers, the scent... Shit.

 

As the lights flashed a 1-minute warning and people rushed into empty seats, Carol felt her breathing steady just a little more. If she hadn't seen Helen yet, it was probably unlikely she'd have to for the rest of the presentation. Very few chairs were open in front of her, so if the woman even showed up, she'd be back behind her somewhere. Less distracting that way. She shifted in her seat, getting comfortable for the 2-hour seminar talk. To her left, Andy cleared his throat once, and then again, more urgently.

 

Up front, about 3 rows in, was Helen with a small group of classy, top-tier looking executives, a big grin plastered over her face and Carol was taken aback momentarily about how she couldn't tell if it was sincere or not. There had been a time she'd been able to read that woman like a book, like second nature. Now a cloud fell over her as she realised that they were, for all intents and purposes, strangers again with pertinent, intimate details forgotten already.

 

“Stop it,” Andy vehemently hissed at her under his breath again and she blinked twice, unaware about how long she'd been fixated on that one person in a room of hundreds.

 

Suddenly the lights dimmed and Helen disappeared into the mass of heads, and a older, distinguished blond man that Carol only vaguely recognised as the head of development at one of the major studios wandered on stage to polite applause.

 

“We don't buy television shows. We buy the people,” he began, booming out confidently to the room of like-minded executives. “That's the real secret most of us know on some level but forget to put into practice during a pitch meeting.” Droning wouldn't quite be the best way to describe his speaking style but to Carol, it all blended into a single long sound that was eclipsed by the voice screaming bloody murder in her head. Thank god Andy was paying attention, or hopefully he was. Somebody had to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

At the short 10-minute break, Carol kept herself occupied by schmoozing with other network honchos and studiously ignoring any other women. Sure, it wasn't quite fair to others but at the risk of Helen appearing in her periphery for any reason, she felt most comfortable surrounded by men, none of whom she'd ever had any sort of intimate relationships with and Andy stuck to her side like glue. In truth, it was barely enough time to drink down half a burned coffee before they were all being herded like sheep back into their seats to continue with the bland buying presentation.

 

The lights dimmed again and Carol let out a long, relieved breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She'd made it out alive. Despite the racing of her heart when she'd first seen Helen in the conference room, and that fact she fully expected to have a panic attack right there in front of all her colleagues, she hadn't. Nothing happened other than a little frenzied water chugging, which led to the uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassing need to escape the seminar halfway through the second half to go to the bathroom. She hadn't even dared look in Helen's direction to see if she had noticed. (Chances were incredibly slim anyway.)

 

Andy was flirting (or something he considered flirting) with Reggie, an SVP of Production at, well, it didn't really matter because her right-hand man seemed legitimately happy for once. Maybe a focus on his own love life would distract him from her pathetic failure of one for at least a few days. He could find his own way home; he was a big boy. After finishing the mandatory socializing with other network execs, she texted him to tell him she was leaving anyway, just to be a good friend.

 

She'd almost made it to the lobby doors in a flurried pace resembling speed-walking when someone bumped into her, or she bumped into them. She waved a quick apology to the wall of a man in a blue suit jacket and thought she was free from any more awkward encounters. When he turned to the side, a very familiar face was opposite him, curiously peering around to see what idiot had knocked into them.

 

Carol swallowed hard as brown eyes latched onto hers, with only the briefest of moments of surprise evident there.

 

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

 

She immediately plastered on the fakest, most forced smile of the afternoon and pretended that her heart wasn't racing and her soul wasn't currently in the process of being crushed into dust. This was the first time she'd actually seen Helen, face to face, since... well, _since_. She had to give herself a little credit that she wasn't having a noticeable breakdown a la that afternoon outside Vincente. Sure, her legs were trembling, her muscles felt like stone, and she wasn't sure if she'd even taken a breath for over a minute. But, she was fucking smiling.

 

“Oh, hi, _you_ ,” she trilled, way too high-pitched for a normal human being.

 

It had taken a few months but Carol had become something of an expert in Helen's expressions as well and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the tight smile on the older woman's face was equally fake. “Hi... you too,” Helen pushed out past half-clenched teeth. For a moment, she glanced away and to the giant man Carol had initially rammed into. “Paul, this is Carol Rance, from my old network. Carol, Paul Meesner, CFO over at Starz.”

 

There was something a bit dark in Helen's measured tone, and the words she chose—or specifically chose not to use. There was just the slightest hint of resentment burning in Carol's gut at the fact she hadn't actually shared the fact Carol was now president of that network, not just some lackey who worked there. Paul seemed almost oblivious to the tension but the twitch of his lips seemed to give away a little bit of insight. He took her hand anyway, and exchanged pleasantries.

 

As soon as he dropped her hand, Carol took a step back and shrugged nervously. “Well, great to run into you two but I've got—”

 

“Literally!” Paul laughed, his bright white veneers reflecting all the eerie fluorescent light above them as Helen pushed out a fake chuckle, her shoulders way too squared to be comfortable and her posture rigid.

 

“You got me,” Carol ground out, her fingers unconsciously turning into guns and pointing at him. _Please, body, stop this_.

 

“I really have—,” She could not tear her gaze away from Helen as hard as she tried. Part of her was begging Helen to say something to get her to stick around, any excuse really would do. She'd snatch it between two grubby little paws and treasure it far more than a sane person would. But then the more sensible (and terrified) part of her wanted to run as fast as possibly in whatever direction would take her away from here the fastest, like Cinderella at midnight. Hell, she'd gladly forego one of her beautiful and adorable Stuart Weitzman pumps that she'd only bought a week ago if it meant a certain escape from this giant mess of anxiety and ex-girlfriends. “—to go.”

 

There was heat on her face, a red blush definitely creeping up her pale chest and onto her cheeks like some sort of slow-motion tsunami of humiliation. For a tiny second, she thought perhaps there was a flicker of something soft in Helen's eyes, something that betrayed the hardened exterior. But it disappeared before Carol could be sure it was even there in the first place. With an awkward wave, she slipped away and into the cool air of the early evening.

 

Jesus Christ, she suddenly hated conferences.

 


	2. emptied

**_7 months ago_ **

 

The thing nobody really bothered to tell Carol was how quickly it all could be over. No, not her relationship. She knew that one all too well. One day you're out on a secret friend hike, and the next second a livid girlfriend is making you strip naked on a hill, and 3 hours later you're quitting your job and trusting in literally crazy people help dig you out of the massive hole you've made for yourself. Yeah, that sort of thing was already really damn obvious. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Literally.

 

No, she meant pregnancy. Even at 19 and a half weeks. Even when everything is supposed to be more stable, more predictable. More permanent. Words like “baby names” and “birthing partner” and “maternity leave” had become more common, and they all gave a sense of false security. They all implied that the inevitable was coming and it was time to prepare. She and Helen had gone shopping for a few bits and pieces, a few outfits and some furniture. They'd done her diet and nutrition plans, gone to ultrasounds, done the scary second trimester blood test, and most of all, they'd been to early prenatal massage classes together and she'd relished those stereotypical moments sitting comfortably on the floor in Helen's arms, between her legs, as the Boho harem pant-clad instructor talked about what was to come at the 28-week classes.

 

Those were probably the best moments, and the parts of the pregnancy that Carol looked back on most fondly even after all the horrible shit. Something about the calm of the situation, the soothing, melodic drone of Jane's stories, the way she could feel the even rise and fall of Helen's chest warm against her back, and the gentle way Helen's fingers idly traced patterns on her thighs throughout it all. Every so often, she'd feel the brush of soft lips against her neck, a nuzzle sometimes when Jane wasn't paying attention. Carol had never—not outside the intimacy of their homes anyway—felt so safe, so completely at peace.

 

And then the language changed and the words were spoken in hushed tones instead, with darker faces attached to them. Things like “cervical incompetence”, “premature rupture” and “surgical evacuation” floated over her head as she lay prone and helpless in a hospital bed, hooked up to a saline drip with Helen sitting next to her, looking exhausted and far too concerned. Worn down. Her hand clenched anxiously at the crisp sheets, instead of Carol's.

 

It was just some spotting, a few cramps. The OB-GYN had said that passing the first trimester was a huge accomplishment and all the scary miscarriage talk was basically over. Basically. Not completely. She had told them straight up that chances of this had dropped down to 5-10%... and then suddenly there was blood in her underwear one afternoon at work, with one or two sharp abdominal pains. Initially, they'd said there's usually nothing to worry about.

 

A little bit of vaginal spotting wasn't unusual, and after all, she was healthy, happy and almost 20 weeks in, Helen murmured calmly as they had sat waiting for the doctor. Carol abruptly shirked her touch without thinking, too wrapped up in the feeling that something was _very_ wrong. The words sounded like hollow platitudes in contrast to the severe cramping twisting up inside her gut. And after all was said and done, that was her biggest regret during the whole process. Turning down Helen's small comfort when they both had needed it the most seemed selfish and short-sighted in retrospect. Somehow, just that small denial of affection drove an invisible wedge between them during the whole time in hospital. She knew it was unfair to blame herself, but taking on unnecessary guilt was an unfortunate hobby of hers.

 

There was an outpatient procedure that Carol would rather just forget, all the needles and anaesthesia and masked faces with fake concern. She'd never minded the astringent smell of hospitals before that day but as the orderly wheeled her back to the recovery area afterwards, she swallowed bile and clenched her jaw shut until her muscles grew tired. It could have been the cocktail of painkillers and sedatives but she suspected it was the place itself, and the fact she'd just spent 2 hours having her insides cut and vacuumed away like a tangled rodent nest found in an old attic. Her stomach roiled again as she sat up on her own, waiting, begging her body to settle.

 

And Helen was with her, in the periphery, still afraid to touch too much, to speak much at all. Part of Carol wanted Helen to just talk, to go on about some stupid shit at the office or something idiotic maybe Myra had done. Anything at all that wasn't about the thing that had just happened to her. When Helen let a soft kiss linger against her forehead, there was just numbness there. She felt nothing at all. Everything was dull, blank, painless. She suspected that she could blame the sedatives for some of that at least for the time being but eventually they would wane and she'd be forced to face that fact she was empty.

Literally.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The staff psychologist at her regular OB-GYN's office had told her the next day about the way grief moved, and what to expect on this terribly sad journey. She hated the way it sounded, so pathetic and inevitable, like she was a broken person who was mandated a new trial.

 

Any maybe that was true. It had been her body that failed. Cervical incompetence. She'd never even considered the existence of her cervix or how important some small little piece of her body could be to everything until it was too late.

 

Sorrow, grief, anger, anxiety. Those were all the things she was supposed to feel, supposed to experience and move through to some other brighter pasture. Instead, she countered with numbness, guilt, and self-isolation. She'd insisted that Helen leave her alone for the night and they spent it in separate houses in separate areas of Los Angeles. It was as far as she could get without hopping on a plane back to fucking Michigan.

 

There was relief, and that was probably the worst part of the whole thing because as she had sat in the recovery room, slowly sipping on apple juice to bring up her blood sugar levels, she could feel the warmth of Helen at her side, smell the nutty scent of her skin lotion. And she realised that Merc Lapidus never would have been there for this. The whole pregnancy had been a mistake from the minute it started and her body finally took care of it. She'd been doing it all for the wrong reasons.

 

Merc, even if he hadn't been cheating, even if she hadn't been the other woman (again), he wouldn't have put his life on hold for even a minute. He would have made up an excuse about why he couldn't get to the hospital in time to wait with her, and another one about why he couldn't stay. She would have believed them, in part, but known deep down it was all lies.

 

Meanwhile, she had a woman next to her every step of the way, quietly supporting her and who had been more than willing to join her on this now-derailed pregnancy journey even with a kid from a man she loathed. But Carol didn't really care anymore, and she felt guilty about that too.

 

That sticky oil, that toxic tar of guilt pervaded every move, every thought. She was guilty about feeling relief, guilty for not caring about Helen, guilty for her own physical failures, guilty for anything that maybe she had done to bring about this miscarriage, guilty for how much she craved some high-intensity medicinal weed, guilty for how numb she felt, how she didn't feel sad, how she wasn't grieving properly. She literally only wanted to be alone on her sofa, clad in smelly old pyjamas, in front of HGTV with a fat joint and a bottle of cheap red wine.

 

Talking was pointless; what was there to really say when it came down to it? What happened, happened and nothing would change. She couldn't cope with other people's feelings, their pity and grief and awkward attempts at condolences for something she wasn't even all that sad about. She certainly didn't want to see Helen's brown eyes fixated on her like she was going to fall into pieces at any second. It was too much pressure to keep that up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Days went by where she didn't go into work, didn't get up off the sofa for anything more than going to the bathroom or rolling another joint, didn't shower. She fell asleep in front of the quiet murmuring of cable news or home reno shows late at night and didn't care about the crick in her neck the next morning from the uncomfortable throw pillows. She'd get a text every morning, and one in the evening, asking how she was. She'd reply coldly and succinctly only so Helen wouldn't show up at her door with surprises, none of which she wanted at all. Instead, she buckled under the oppressive heaviness of whatever it was hanging off her; she curled up around the blackhole that had taken up residence in some indeterminable space inside her. It feel cold. Paralyzing. Empty.

 

It felt all too familiar.

 

Clearly Beverly had come to a similar conclusion because she appeared out of nowhere one afternoon with a selection of bagels, soft eyes, and a quirk of an eyebrow. That was about all the challenge she could handle. Grudgingly, Carol had allowed her in, shuffling back into the kitchen with the slightest pang of hunger in her belly. They'd sat together, chatting only a little bit, smoked some weed and watched home reno shows back to back to back.

 

 

That night, a few hours after Beverly had made her way home, Carol put her phone to her ear and waited as it rang through. She didn't even bother with a hello when the other side picked up.

 

“Can you come over?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of a key turning in a lock seemed to echo throughout her quiet, depressed house. The air was stagnant, clouded with regrets and guilt but as Helen wandered towards the living room, dumped a small bag on the floor, it felt like a mild breeze shifted the room. She looked terrible too, dark bags under her eyes, hair tied up in a messy bun instead of falling loosely over her shoulders. Her baggy sweatpants pooled around her ankles. Maybe she was falling apart a bit too.

 

They stared silently at each other for a moment, and within that emptiness, Carol was suddenly hit with a wave of loss. Helen lingered in the doorway, her weight shifting from one foot to the other as she was obviously trying to sort out what the next move should be and how Carol would react.

 

“Can you come sit...” Carol gestured to the carpet and there was a tense moment as her girlfriend stared at the spot, hesitating briefly, before stepping closer. She glanced quickly at the sofa, covered in blankets and empty food wrappers and settled down on the teal rug. Without another sound, Carol knelt down on the floor and crawled forward, moving slowly to settle herself between Helen's legs, like they had done at the prenatal massage classes. That felt like forever ago, in another life.

 

The television flashed with the opening credits of some HBO drama; it looked grey and miserable.

 

Her body shifted back and feeling the softness, the warmth, the safety that had been a stranger for the last few days. As arms slid around her, securing themselves over her and Helen bowed her head, resting her face in the crook of Carol's neck, that's when the tears started for the first time since she'd found herself in cold stirrups at the hospital. Her shoulders shook so hard with sobbing that she had to wonder briefly if on top of everything else, there was also an earthquake. It wasn't. Of course it wasn't an earthquake.

 

That inside part of her that had been screaming in silence since the miscarriage finally quieted down, soothed by Helen's touch and the escape of tears.

 

Helen embraced her tighter, whispering tender nonsense into her ear inbetween gentle kisses. It only made the tears fall harder but the lightness slowly crept in the longer she cried. For a second she tensed, getting a whiff of her well-worn hoodie and worried about how gross her hair must stink after not washing it for days. But there wasn't even the slightest indication that Helen cared at all, about any of that. The only thing she knew was how tight her hug was, how easy it was to curl into her, how much her own tears stung, how safe she finally felt again. Shifting slightly, she turned in Helen's arms, pausing for a moment to just take in the feeling.

 

Her heart banged roughly against her ribcage and her breathing hiccuped between heaving sobs. Nothing seemed to be able to stop the tide of saltwater down her cheeks or the way her throat hurt from swallowing the spasms of her crying. But Helen was so warm, and she smelled like fresh laundry and home. Carol's fingers grasped at the soft cotton t-shirt, pulling at it, even though she knew she'd be stretching it out, possibly beyond repair.

 

It was the blue James Perse one that she'd stolen all those months ago. It was the same t-shirt she'd brought over one night to sleep in after they'd got back together and casually tossed it into Helen's laundry a few days later. Now it was draped over Helen, soaking in her scent like a sponge and Carol knew she'd be stealing it again.

 

“Oh, Scrunch,” she hummed, “It's okay.”

 

Everything that had been building up inside her, without even her own knowledge, began to spill out. She'd thought herself numb, immune almost to the grief and pain that so many people thought she should be experiencing. But as she reached up, grasping harder at her girlfriend's top, her skin, anything she could get at. Like second nature, she twisted around to push her lips to Helen's,desperate for the connection she'd been starving for out of her own isolation. The loss from inside her blossoming out into some sort of fear about losing everything else. After all, the miscarriage was unexpected, unusual. It shouldn't have happened. Nothing was safe. She could just as easily and abruptly lose this as well.

 

But for the time being, she clambered onto Helen's lap, crushing their lips together, desperately sucking up all her breath, gripping probably too tightly as she left small marks in her skin. The way Helen touched her in return spoke louder than any words ever could, the strong grip that felt secure, tight, steady. Like she'd never be going anywhere.

 

At the time, Carol had thought the miscarriage would be the worst thing that could ever happen between them.

 

 


	3. the lonely gays club

**_8 months later  
_ **

 

Two more sips. That's all she had left in the wine glass in front of her. Just two measly swigs of some moderately decent Californian white. The seat next to her was pulled out brusquely and flopping down in a huff was none other than her second-in-charge. Andy groaned over-dramatically as he slammed his half-empty drink down on the white tablecloth, a little sloshing over the edge.

 

Carol glanced over at him briefly, and then around the rest of the room searching for a familiar lanky British brunette. No luck. Fuck Beverly.

 

With measured practice she took one long sip, then stared at it, swirling the dredges of her sauvignon blanc with even less enthusiasm than she'd thought possible. The man beside her said nothing for a long minute and she knew his eyes were boring holes into her head. Eventually she sighed, the sound coming out far more sad than she'd intended.

 

He held up his bourbon, the remaining ice clinking in an irritating jingle as it swilled. “Well, lady boss,” he said with a forced smile that betrayed far too much misery to be a comfortable sight. “Welcome to the lonely gays club.”

 

Carol, who had been dangling her near-empty glass between her fingers, squinted at him. “What?”

 

“Hmm, maybe it should be the lonely gays band?”

 

She clinked her glass against his, losing patience in whatever point he was trying to make and chugged the last of her drink. “That club sounds like it sucks.”

 

Andy's eyes actually brightened for a second, a glimmer of mischief in them. “Oh my god, _if only_! That's the whole problem!” He winked at her and she couldn't help the roll of her eyes because, yes, she'd walked right into that one. All the same, a small smirk managed to sneak across her lips right before Myra helped herself to a seat at the table as well, clearly just as nonplussed at the event as they all were.

 

“I'm going for another glass,” she announced although she knew nobody at the table gave a shit. They were all just counting down the minutes until it was professional to leave. It was like the reject singles table at a wedding, except not as fun, quirky, or drunk. Again, Hollywood had lied. The only happy couple that had been there was Beverly and Sean, but both of them had disappeared into the ether, probably stuck in a boring conversation with a producer or journo or maybe they'd just grown bored of the whole gala and escaped already.

 

These sorts of gatherings and work parties had been fun once. When she was Director of Programming instead of president of the whole damn network, there was a certain freedom, a lack of pressure to be performing constantly. She used to be able to wander around and just talk any old shit, as long as people were smiling, there was a drink in their hands and they were nodding along to what she was suggesting, she was doing her job. That's all it took: a flirty smile here, a touch on the arm there, a push of the network's primetime programming schedule at just the right time.

 

Literally her whole job was softening people up for Merc to swoop in and nab later. And then she'd sneak off, smoke half a joint, head back in and keep it up all night long. Maybe there would be a quickie in the coat closet or someone's car to celebrate, complete with farting. Not her, obviously. Merc.

 

With Helen at the helm, it'd been even more different. Perhaps even more fun, although also slightly more work because they acted as a team instead of her acting as an executive fluffer. But unlike Merc's requirement of no touching, no nothing, mostly because often a wife was with him, she and Helen were free to behave as professionally or unprofessionally as they chose. (It was always professional.) But Helen wouldn't shy away from leaning in a bit too close, letting her warm hand linger purposefully in the small of Carol's back as they spoke to a potential buyer or fellow executive. There was no impetus to hide anything like a dirty office secret, just be professional.

 

In off moments, when they weren't selling something or manipulating some unsuspecting mark, Carol was allowed to run her fingers down Helen's arm in a way no coworker would dare and Helen was allowed to quickly place a kiss on her bare shoulder. They were small gestures, tiny specks really lost in the hustle and noise of these events. But they were _theirs_. And it had felt really fucking good at last to be part of something special, something that wasn't relegated to dark shadows and parking lots.

 

Now, though? Fuck. It was fucking tedious. She only wanted to head home, slip into her pajamas, and just pass out, lonely and half-drunk in an empty bed. The way she suspected her life was meant to be.

 

A nudge to her arm woke her from her self-pitying reverie as Andy cleared his throat loudly. “Incoming,” he whispered conspiratorially, and nodded towards the bar where a very familiar face caused her blood pressure to skyrocket.

 

_Shit. Shit, shit, shitshitshit._

 

She winced visibly and Myra made some sort of sound that was probably sympathetic but really just sounded disgusted.

 

Helen looked amazing: relaxed, happy, confident. And Carol knew that her new job was going really well and she'd settled into a smaller streaming network with nothing short of ease. There were already rumblings about how great the network was doing in the first half that Helen had been at its head, and really, that shouldn't surprise anyone.

 

She could still remember the night that Helen had broached the subject of a job change. They were lying in bed, just settling in for the night when she'd suggested that maybe they'd be better off if only one of them was at the network. Of course it made sense. With her and Helen at the top of the food chain, it was becoming almost impossible to book any time off together, and that included work trips but moreso it meant no time spent together, relaxing, except the occasional weekend. They couldn't just pickup and take a Friday off since one or the other needed to be working. Networks sadly didn't just run themselves. Despite how smoothly they worked together, how much they'd brought into the network in the last few months together, maybe it was for the best not to be together quite so much.

 

 

Carol hated having to look at Helen now, knowing exactly how well she was doing meanwhile Carol was fairly dispassionate about her own new position. It'd seemed far more exciting a few years ago, when she didn't actually have to carry the whole thing alone. And there was Helen, acting as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do, all carefree and second nature.

 

“Oh, fuck it,” she grumbled, snatching up her purse and pushing back from the table, finding her limbs a little more unsteady than she'd expected.

 

Andy's eyes went wide and stared up at her. “What are you doing?”

 

She waved off his concern flippantly, and shook her head. “I have no idea. But I need a drink. Now.”

 

Strolling purposefully towards the bar, she probably looked a lot more confident than she felt. But for real, she was the president of a fucking national TV network; she could handle ordering a drink next to her ex. Hell, she had plenty of experience facing exes at workplace functions. Why on earth would this one be any different?

 

(Just because she'd been so insanely in love? Because they'd almost had a child together? Because her entire world view and sense of self changed due to her? Because her heart was well and truly broken by this woman? Because she had been the only true happiness in her life? Nah. Lots of people moved on after marriages and relationships just as intense as theirs was and nothing was worse off because of it. But Carol was not like “lots of people” and Helen was... something more. She was something none of her other exes ever had been. Not even close.)

 

Sidling up next to Helen, who was oblivious and absorbed in a conversation with some grey-haired man with thick-rimmed glasses, she leaned over the bar towards the hot man-bun with a model's physique. He'd do just fine. Plastering on her best cutesy smile, she waggled a finger. Like a puppy to a stick, he came running. Yeah, she still had it, goddammit.

 

“Can I have a glass of the sauv,” she started and glanced over at Andy and Myra. “And a bourbon, rocks.” She grinned, the lilt in her voice very pronounced. Maybe she was a little bit drunk already, and that was definitely for the best in this situation. “Please?”

 

It was funny how she hadn't even needed her ears. She literally felt Helen's attention shift as the fit blond bartender winked at her and wandered back behind the bar to get her order. The air around the prickled with something... It was painful, tense, hot. The beating of her heart pounded harder, faster and she closed her eyes just slightly longer than a normal blink as she subtly took in a huge breath. Like always, the world around her faded out just a little bit and for a second her own body felt as if it wasn't quite hers anymore. But the moment passed briskly as Helen spun around and her voice broke through the haze.

 

“Carol?”

 

Lying tended not to be Carol Rance's strong suit, at least not as it applied to personal relationships. (Professionally, she lied her ass of for a living and made millions for the skill.) “Oh my god,” she trilled, pretending as if she hadn't even seen Helen right next to her, in that svelte black dress. “Hi.”

 

Wow. She wasn't sure if the two of them could actually be more fake. It was like watching a scene from the Lincolns' sitcom, complete with C-rate actors. They hadn't seen each other since that unfortunate run-in at the conference summit a month ago and now they were magically back to pretending there wasn't a deep, cutting personal history lying bare and dirty between. It was so much like back when Helen first came to the network, and they'd danced around the fact Carol's affair with Ed had essentially been a massive factor in Helen's divorce. All those elephants, all in one room. Now, the elephants had grown up, multiplied and were suffocating her once again.

 

“Hi,” Helen laughed. It was a hard sound, forced out of a tight throat but likely nobody else would know that. She was just too familiar with Helen and every quirk of her face, every microexpression, every tonal shift in her voice. And it probably worked the other way too. Kryptonite to each other, for sure. She opened her arms, as everyone in their industry did, at approximately this time in a new conversation.

 

It was second nature to walk into it because a handshake was too formal, reserved for non-industry strangers and exceptionally top-tier board execs. Hugging was the LA way. Who needed personal space when a pilot deal or an ad budget was at stake?

 

She pushed out her own chuckle and walked into the embrace just like Helen was any other old network acquaintance. That was how it was supposed to be, anyway. Until she actually felt arms around her and her own hands sliding around the familiar curves, her head resting perfectly in the crook of Helen's neck. For a second, and only a second too long, she stopped, breathed in deeply and out of habit probably, shifting, not quite nuzzling in but resting far too intimately to be merely colleagues saying hello. There was the slightest of hitches in Helen's chest that she could feel, with every nerve so intensely attuned to Helen's body even after all this time.

 

Something in her bones felt heavy, like she couldn't move a muscle, like she wanted to just sink into the feeling and never emerge again. But she'd been there already, twice, and ripped herself out of it eventually. Yet even now, Helen was the first to pull away and put a fair amount of distance between them. There was a look, dark, almost unreadable on her face that only lasted a millisecond but Carol saw it, she knew it: fear. Just a quick spark. Just enough for Carol to see and nobody else.

 

“Well,” Carol began, clapping her empty hands together. “You look like you're doing _great_ .” The emphasis on the last word sounded so ridiculous but it wasn't exactly untrue; Helen did look like she was doing really damn well.

 

“I am. Happy, actually,” Helen agreed, grinding out as much cheer as possible. “I hear you're doing amazing stuff at the network too.”

 

The blonde tried not to visibly wince at the statement but probably slipped up. As innocuous as it sounded, she knew better. Helen had countered a compliment with a simple fact. In their business, it was all about reading between the lines, then vehemently trying to deny and ignore what was found there. She had avoided commenting on Carol specifically and kept it as blandly professional as humanly possible which meant she thought Carol wasn't that impressive, wasn't giving off an air of success and happiness, wasn't fooling anybody with her performance. In other words, she was calling her ex-girlfriend a bald-faced liar.

 

And she wasn't wrong.

 

Mr. Sexy Man-Bun bartender slid two drinks towards her and winked. Carol could feel the flush spreading up her neck and over her cheeks, and hated herself for it. With a resigned sigh, she realised she'd ordered a drink for Andy specifically to make Helen curious, if not jealous, and she'd flirted with the bartender for that same purpose. God, she was fucking transparent and pathetic and the blush creeping across her face wasn't because a cute boy winked at her; it was unadulterated shame. Helen probably knew that too, and the idea she'd been caught out made the whole thing even worse.

 

Whatever her motivations, it worked as Helen stared a little longer than necessary at the drink. “Scotch?” Her voice was tinged with a higher pitch and an eyebrow arched just a little. They both knew Carol hated the smokiness, the sharp taste of any sort of whisky unless it was well-mixed in high-end cocktails.

 

“Oh, this isn't for me,” she blurted out with a short, light laugh as she took the glass, careful not to tell her who it was actually for. That would ruin the whole facade of her being a confident woman who'd moved on from a terrible mistake and painful broken heart.

 

Helen nodded, her lips pressing together, pretending not to be interested. “I see.” There was a reason they were the office tower executives and not the talent. The worst part about their equally poor acting skills was the flash of hurt she saw ricochet across Helen's face in the way her fake smile wavered just for a second and her eyes flickered.

 

Passing like a shadow, she'd almost been tempted to admit the truth just so she could erase the image of pain she'd momentarily created but no. What was the point anymore? And she needn't have worried so much anyway because no sooner had Helen plastered back on her own mask than a leggy blonde sauntered up to them, placing herself in between the two women and reached for the second drink that Helen had also been babysitting.

 

Carol didn't have the time or willpower to act unaffected as she took in the woman there, short-cropped hair and a body somebody like Morning Randolph would die for, clad in a suit that seemed like it'd marched straight off some Paris runway. A spike of envy shot through her veins as she took in her replacement, her upgrade. And of course, it had to be the great Kate Sheridan. Who didn't know Kate fucking Sheridan? The most disgusting thing about it all was that she and Helen looked fucking perfect together, like the epitome of a lesbian power couple. There was no universe where she believed anybody who had seen her and Helen together would have thought the same. Maybe they had just been mismatched from the beginning.

 

For a second, Helen's eyes went wide at the intrusion and the way Kate stroked her hand down Helen's forearm but it faded fairly quickly. “Carol, this is—”

 

“Kate Sheridan,” Carol interrupted as she finally took a breath and reset her fake grin. The new blonde laughed and touched Carol on the arm as well. It could have been flirty if Carol hadn't known Kate was essentially like the female Merc of unwanted touching.

 

“Oh, Carol and I are well-acquainted, hon.” How could anyone at her position not know the director of Alternative Media at Gersh, especially since she used to be one of the most lethal TV talent agents in the city. She'd gone head to head with Carol multiple times over the years. Kate took a sip from her highball glass and peered over the rim at Carol, narrowing her eyes just enough to make her warning loud and clear. As if there was any competition anyway, even if Carol had been on the hunt. Which she really, _really_ wasn't. Well, she hadn't thought she had been, anyway. The way her hands shook as she grabbed her glass of wine would have signalled otherwise had anyone been paying attention.

 

She sidestepped out from Kate's imposing presence, pushed a smile through tight lips and nodded. “Well,” she paused, meeting Helen's eyes. “Nice to see you.” With a flourish of her wine glass, she added, “Have a good one, ladies.” As soon as her back was turned, she grimaced to herself, took a huge gulp of her wine and continued through the crowds of people she'd rather not speak to, back to her table of lonely, miserable people.

 

 


	4. in theory and practice

**_6 months ago_ **

 

Beverly grinned, that smarmy smile that she'd get on her face when she knew she was right and she'd been smoking weed for a little too long. Chewing on possibly the worst cookie ever made, she chuckled harder and pointed a finger at Carol. (Yeah, it was worse than that chicken-cookie-raisin shit.)

 

“So, as it turns out, you _can_ sleep your way to the top.” She guffawed at her own observation with glee.

 

Pouting but blinking a little too much to soothe her dry, bloodshot eyes, Carol groaned. “That's not funny.”

 

Beverly inhaled deeply as the roach glowed red and then sputtered out. “Oh, but it _really_ is.”

 

“I resent that,” she whined, knowing it wasn't quite true but she couldn't really deny that if she hadn't been sleeping with Helen, this probably wouldn't have happened quite as it had. She took a long drink of her wine before giggling just a little bit. It wasn't funny at all, of course, but maybe it retained a kernel of truth and Beverly's stupid face was still smirking at her in that insufferable way.

 

With a shrug, Beverly flicked the burnt out roach into the ashtray and sighed. “Resent it all you want. You know it's true.”

 

“Ehhh...”

 

“So, how is it, then? This network president gig with Helen not around? How's she doing?”

 

Carol had to wonder if Beverly actually cared because ever since they'd got back together, although the two women got on well enough, Beverly still retained just a hint of animosity towards Helen for all the shit that went on. It lingered around the edges of every encounter and some days tended to be a little more pronounced than others. Most people would be pleased to have such a good friend watching their back all the time, but at a certain point, Carol wished they could all just be normal because as much as Helen didn't appear to notice (or perhaps she did and she just didn't care), Carol did. Those bad days, when Beverly was being particularly protective and sour, she felt caught in the middle of two people she loved. And that fucking sucked. She wanted to scream at Beverly that everything was fine, like really honestly fine, and she was happy and Helen was happy and this was everything she'd ever wanted.

 

But it always came back to the fact she'd said those words before, especially about Helen, and look how that had turned out. So, she was no longer trusted to make such decisions apparently.

 

She shrugged. “She's good. ” Of course, Helen was doing well, probably. The smaller, streaming network with all its freedom from advertisers and broadcast censorship fit with her style even better than her previous position. It seemed to be sucking up a great deal of their time however as obviously Carol had an adjustment period of her own, and Helen was playing a frazzled game of catch-up since the previous president had left the network in a mess, and unhappiness leaked out every so often when Helen got tired and lacked the resolve to maintain her bravado. There were the beginnings of what she thought could be stress cracks in the relationship.

 

When Helen had suggested the switch up in their careers, it seemed to make perfect sense. The miscarriage—although still heavily hanging off their shoulders—was a month in the past and it was time for life to move on. And the promotion had again been something Carol had always dreamt of, so it seemed like the perfect distraction from all the grief and tension. So Helen snatched the CCO offer at Hulu and Carol moved up to head of their network, with Elliot's blessing, surprisingly.

 

“But how are you?”

 

Beverly's face had drained of some of the glee from before at Carol's short response to her previous question.

 

“It's a lot of work,” she admitted. “But it's my dream, right?”

 

A soft blanket of silence fell over them for a moment until Beverly sighed. “Is it?”

 

“In theory.” She had it all: the job she'd always coveted, good friends, lots of money in the bank (again), and a relationship that ticked all the boxes she had thought she wanted. She did want them. Helen was supportive, caring, smart, patient, and, well, the sex was amazing still. Her therapy had done fucking wonders from where they had been the first time around. But still, there was something else. Maybe it was from the loss; maybe it was something else they'd yet to realise. But it hung like sticky cobwebs just in the corners, in the shadows, building up slowly over time, collecting the dust of memories and unsaid thoughts.

 

Carol let a long sigh escape her throat and took a small sip of her drink again. It didn't go down very well. The taste was more sour than she remembered this pinot being. The look of concern on Beverly's face sort of said everything she didn't want to see.

 

The sound of her front door closing bounced off the walls and echoed in the silence around them. She could hear the familiar sound of Helen's footsteps as they came closer and there was a part of her that immediately felt a wave of relief. And that was exactly the issue she seemed to be facing: any many doubts as she had when they were apart, as soon as Helen was around her, physically, they all seemed to evaporate and Carol couldn't consider a life where that flush of relief and calm didn't exist any longer.

 

“Hey girls,” Helen chimed as she came into the kitchen, smirking at the burnt out joints and empty bottle of white wine.

 

“Hello,” Beverly said with a strangely measured tone considering how messed up she must be from the booze and weed.

 

Wow, Helen looked good, fresh even if she was getting home late, and was probably quite tired. “Hi baby,” Carol said blithely, a dopey smile spreading across her face as she reached towards her girlfriend.

 

“Hey you,” Helen murmured as a similar gentle grin mirrored back. She kissed Carol gently, lingering a bit before pulling back but not away. A strong arm slid around her waist as she sat at the counter, holding her close from behind. Suddenly the world felt like a nicer, safer place.

 

There was a narrowing of Beverly's eyes for a moment but she let it go when she met Carol's gaze. Maybe this whole different workplace thing didn't have quite as many benefits as they'd thought because this was the way she wanted to feel 24-7. Just like this.

 

 

* * *

 

And of course it couldn't stay just like that for long. Their lives began splintering, at first in tiny shards and then in larger and larger pieces. As the doubts that Carol felt when she was alone grew bigger, and the tension between them thicker until it was like trudging through molasses some nights. Those cobwebs, the ones collecting dust and unspoken truths, wove themselves outward from the mere corner shadows and into the light of day.

 

Their relationship wasn't supposed to be like this and the worst part was Carol could tell Helen was trying so damn hard to pull through the mess but something, something inside Carol herself, couldn't quite accept her efforts. Stresses from work spilled over into her off-hours time, and Helen's job seemed to be more difficult than she'd signed up for. They were both overworked, exhausted, and irritable at home, while the idea they'd have more time off to spend together never materialised. Therapy had been slightly helpful for Carol but wriggling deep in her brain was the unaddressed grief from her miscarriage, still, even after months. She kept pushing it down, deeper, until it became a dark, heavy chasm visible on the periphery of every moment. Sometimes she thought Helen could see the shadow too.

 

Eventually, things had to break.

 

Carol wasn't sure exactly how or when but she can remember still the sound of Helen's melancholy, resigned sigh and the soft click of a mug being placed on the glass top coffee-table. She could still hear the exact tone, that heavyhearted sound as Helen said, “We need to talk.” There was no anger, no resentment, nothing that signalled distrust or hate. It was simply the saddest thing Carol had ever heard, and she'd brought it on herself.

 

Helen had asked questions, asked what she could do to change things and the part that caused tears to well up in Carol's eyes was that she had no answer, no solution to the problems she couldn't even define. Her girlfriend had already done so much, given up so much and poured so much of herself into them. What else was there to try that hadn't already been done?

 

Carol pulled away at that time, and distanced herself further after that conversation. She couldn't feel the things that she was supposed to, and didn't have the patience to try. The clinging defeat surrounded Helen too; she gave up in small ways, a little bit at time. They began spending less time together and Carol refused to give up her own house, where she was spending more nights alone. When it all came down to it, she knew it was her own fault. Somehow it hurt even more to drift slowly apart rather than the way Helen had just torn them apart the first time. They both knew what was happening and neither could manage to even slow it down, let alone switch direction. The inevitability of the whole thing was oppressive. Suffocating.

 

It hadn't been Helen who had finally pulled the plug; Carol managed to do that herself. Most people would have said it took courage and strength to make the call and to do the breaking up of something that simply was already beyond salvage. Maybe that was normally true, but for Carol, she'd never felt more fucking cowardly in her life.

 

She never even knew how Helen took it. She had left the house quickly; she'd run away.

 


	5. the 99th percentile

**_9 months later_**

 

The upfronts were meant to be the most exciting part of the year and for the last 15 years of her life, they had definitely been a highlight. New York in the spring, with all the budding green leaves visible from the air, and the cool but not chilly temperatures, felt like a completely different world from LA's omnipresent heat. It was crisp, clean, bustling, wet, and distracting. Everything she didn't realise she'd needed.

 

Last year's upfronts had been a crazy, wild ride of network presentations, parties, afterhours drinking, and sex. So much goddamn sex and booze, well, for Helen anyway. At that point Carol had been pregnant so she mostly kept it under control. One or two wilder nights wouldn't have made much of a difference, she'd thought at the time. With the exception of the afternoon she and Helen had presented their network's own offering (which had been an extraordinary thrill and a half being up on that stage), they'd done nothing but relax and bounce from one dinner to another party to another. In the middle of the day, they'd sneak back to the hotel to fuck, or at the end of a night they'd stumble out of a taxi to do the same before passing out and preparing for another day of the same. There wasn't quite as deadly a combination than the wild, incomparable infatuation stage of a relationship mixed with a week-long work trip, all expenses paid.

 

This year, there was no such anticipation. Sure, she could drink harder, party more, and probably find enough men or women to occupy her bed that she'd never feel the gaping emptiness at the core of it all. But she'd be up on the stage alone, staring into the shadowy abyss of advertising executives and agents, rehashing the same old bullshit they said every year. And she'd wrangled their biggest talent to do much of the talking but again, she hardly felt any excitement about that either. At the end of the night, her hotel suite would be hers alone.

 

And that was exactly how it did go and by midweek, her network was done with its pitch, she'd had her share of parties and listened to more industry gossip than she could possibly handle or remember. Andy was soaking it all in like a big gay sponge, like a kid in a weirdly adult candy shop. Who was sleeping with whom, who was cheating, who was drinking too much or couldn't dance or started a new paleo diet. Of course, he sucked up the useful things too, like which advertisers had eyes on which prime-time slots and what networks had a leg up on which talent agencies and spec productions.

 

Helen must have been there, _somewhere_ . She purposely avoided Hulu's upfront and afterparty because she still—even after so many months—wasn't certain she could handle watching Helen onstage, for an hour and a half and not have some sort breakdown. Not to mention she was slightly terrified of having to run into Kate Sheridan again and deal with the death glares, posturing, and general unpleasant touching. What a jealous fucking bitch. To make matters worse, all the rumours she'd heard swirling around before the upfronts (thanks, Andy) all painted the rosiest damn picture of her and Helen. She was surprised Variety wasn't running a front page spread on how wonderful and special and perfect they were for each other, and how amazing their relationship was, how they were just going to last forever and ever. It all made her stomach turn over in a decidedly vomitty way.

 

There was no point in pretending she could avoid Helen for the entire week but she was damnwell going to try her best. In fact, by midweek, her heroic attempt had actually been successful but Thursday night changed that for the worse.

 

She didn't dislike the Gersh party on principle but she dreaded it this year, which was a bit different. It was always a beautiful venue, impeccably decorated, and astutely stocked with the perfect cocktails and top executives. What made it particularly bad this year was the fact Helen was almost certainly going to be there, since her wonderful, alleged soulmate of a demon girlfriend headed up a major department there. Crawling into a hole and eating her own arm would be preferable to whatever hell was going to greet her on the otherside of the ornate double doors.

 

How did Merc do this year after year, with every affair and ex-wife all just swirling in the swamp that was upfronts?

 

She made it an hour into the event in Chelsea, casually flitting from an exec to an agent to the talent and back again. It was simple, it was easy. It was like her natural habitat. The 4 strong cocktails she'd swallowed down hadn't hindered that ease, in fact, probably relaxing her better than a sober adventure would have done.

 

Then, she saw her. Alone, sitting at the bar. Strange. Kate Sheridan's loud voice was elsewhere, booming off to her left somewhere and Carol stirred the straw in her drink, slowly. Matthew Liu from Gersh's production division was talking about something she stopped paying attention to the moment she'd caught sight of her ex-girlfriend at the bar. She nodded, hummed in agreement as she vaguely heard the lilt of a question in his voice but her gaze was locked tightly elsewhere. Matthew's colleague, Jeff, tacked on something else to the topic as Carol took a careful sip of her paloma.

 

Excusing herself somewhat abruptly, she slipped through a few more familiar faces and across the room. Considering she'd spent the better part of 4 days avoiding this specific situation, it seemed odd to purposefully be moving towards it. But something about the inward curl of Helen's shoulders made her brave, for once.

 

She placed her half-empty cocktail down on the bar and slid into the seat next to Helen, who at least had the decency to glance up. Her face, just for a second, seemed different somehow. Relieved? Her brown eyes remained soft and curious but her lips pushed together in a grim line.

 

“How's it going?” Carol tried, quieter than she'd intended. Her gaze was fixed on the whiskey sour in front of Helen.

 

“Great,” Helen smirked, tilting the glass to her lips and finishing it off. “Good week.”

 

“Yep, good week.” She signalled to the bartender to deliver two more drinks to them. “How's... Kate?”

 

A dismissive scoff escaped from the older woman's mouth. “You'd have to ask her.”

 

That was all Carol needed to know really; it was a very crude code that even an 8  th  grader could crack. Whatever beautiful connection the power couple had clearly was strained, if not broken. She snatched up the fresh cocktail and put back half of it in one large gulp. If her previous comment hadn't been obvious, this would have cleared up any ambiguity.

 

Finally, Helen sighed. “Your presentation was pretty good. That bit with Jason Mitchell, Hayden Panetierre and the puppies was nice touch.” She raised her glass and Carol smiled, clinking hers to it.

 

“Well, I figured not every exec in the room could be a soulless vampire incapable of puppy love.”

 

Helen let out a genuine chuckle, her eyes crinkling a little bit in the corners. “Striving for that 99  th  percentile as usual.”

 

Carol's heart seemed to skip a beat at the sight. Her mind raced, trying to recall the reason she'd broken up with Helen all those months back because right now, sitting so close to her at the bar, basking in her heat, she found herself feeling incredibly stupid.

 

She smiled in response, sincerely. Grateful. “You know me: always dreaming the impossible dream.” It was really nice to have a real conversation, as superficial as it may seem.

 

It could have been the alcohol responsible for the warmth crawling across her skin, or it could have been the company, but whichever way it was, she welcomed the change of pace. Anxiety didn't seem to be able to find a foothold in her gut for once. She could feel the creases in her cheeks as the smile refused to waver, even as they talked on. When she reached out—involuntarily (probably)—and put her palm against the bare skin of Helen's forearm, there was no flinch anymore. Her ex was probably just drunk and her reflexes dulled by the whiskey.

 

“Remember this party last year?” Helen faced her, no fear, no confusion, sharp. She could have been drunk, but it made no difference to the intensity of her stare. Swallowing quickly, Carol looked down at her paloma and let out a single, soft laugh.

 

“Yeah, yep. I sure do.”

 

She could still remember the way they'd stood around, entertaining various random agency executives, spewed out nonsense about primes and numbers and demos, had a few seriously amazing cocktails. But more so, Carol could still taste the mixture of gin and lipstick as they huddled outside, around a corner, escaping the facade for just a few moments. The touch of a warm hand on her jaw, around her waist, gripping her hair. The press of Helen's body against her own swollen belly. The smooth skin, unhindered by fabric. She could still see the mirrors in the elevator as they rode it up to their suite and feel the buzz of anticipation as Helen fumbled idiotically with the keycard for the 100  th  time that trip. (She always had been strangely useless with them.) There was the persistent sense of waking up next to someone, covered in soft sheets and surrounded by the residual scent of perfume and sex. It was a cocoon of deep-rooted comfort and ease, separated from the outside world by nothing other than a wooden door. Maybe it was just the feeling of being undeniably loved that she remembered the most.

 

“Hmm,” Helen hummed with a quirk of her lips and a hard to place gleam in her eyes. It threw Carol off-balance a bit because she couldn't decipher the underlying meaning when once she could have read the signal loud and clear. It seemed like Helen was just pointlessly waxing nostalgic as unhappy drunks often did.

 

Carol glanced around then over her shoulder, trying to squint through the dense crowds of people to where she had seen Kate Sheridan last. She thought there was just a glimpse of that bleach blonde hair above all the grey and black. As obvious as Helen had made it, she wasn't entirely convinced that the terrifying woman wouldn't come jealously storming up to them and make a scene. As she turned back to her drink, Helen rolled her eyes.

 

“Don't worry.” She took another long swallow of the whisky sour, grimacing as it went down. “You're safe.” She sighed again as the silence covered their already constrained conversation.

 

God, she missed last year when they couldn't shut up, or keep their hands off each other. The world itself seemed duller now and not for the first time in the last hour, Carol wondered how she let everything slip away so easily.

 

Before she had the chance to further the conversation, two men approached from Helen's left with their fancy suits, perfect teeth and professionally coiffed hair. Young guys that clearly had missed the memo about Helen, at the very least because they had that stupid twinkle in their eyes. She knew it too well. These boys were probably talent agents at Gersh, or worse, ad reps. In a blink of an eye, Helen's entire demeanour switched over from pensive and sullen to bright and so, so fucking fake. And that had been it for an hour as the guys made small chat, then business chat, then onto the regular garbage.

 

It almost became like the year before, except she wasn't slipping out to the bathroom for a break with just Helen around. Or stepping out to quickly smoke half a joint in an alley. There was no waxy taste of someone else's lipstick in her mouth. It was just them, and two young bucks vying for a sale or a blowjob. She honestly wasn't sure which at this point. Of course, it would be impossible not to have pictured herself between someone's thighs by this point in the night but sadly for the men, it was neither of them. All she could see was a that little flower tattoo she still could probably draw from memory.

 

It seemed a little early when Helen glanced at her phone, groaned, and drained the rest of her drink. She'd already taken Nick and Keon's business cards, and was giving out the typical vibes she usually did at the end of a much longer night. “Well, boys, this was fun but it's time for me to get back to my hotel and prep for tomorrow.”

 

“What hotel are you at?” Nick asked, with a not-so-subtle smirk. Was this guy really under the impression Helen was going to fuck his 25-year-old ass?

 

“Four Seasons.” She didn't ask where they were staying. It was clear she didn't care.

 

Then it became Keon's turn to give it a shot. “Need a lift?”

 

Carol had to stifle a giggle at the base level pick-up skills on display and Helen glanced at her for a brief second, her own lips quirking up. “I'm good. Carol and I are actually sharing a car, so we'll get home safe.” When Helen gripped her hand and pulled her up, it felt better than she remembered, like they were still perfectly in sync. Without thinking, she squeezed tightly in response, unable to resist trailing along behind her like always, throwing an apologetic goodbye behind her and avoiding Kate Sheridan's glare.

 

  

* * *

 

 

  

On the sidewalk outside the venue, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It hadn't slipped her notice that as soon as they exited the building, Helen dropped her hand. “How did you know?”

 

Helen turned to her, eyebrows raised. “What?”

 

“I'm at the Four Seasons too.”

 

Her brows furrowed deeply, squinted in the lamplight, and paused for a moment. “Don't you always stay there?” She seemed a little put off, in all honesty. Of course, the network tended to always use Four Seasons in Manhattan unless otherwise directed. “I wasn't lying either. Hulu put us all up there as well.” She sighed. “Do you want to share a car or not?” The false niceness was gone from her voice and instead, Helen just seemed tired, and a little bit drunk. She swayed just a little bit.

 

Nodding, Carol stood silently as Helen spoke with the valet and waited for her towncar to pull up. They didn't speak even once the car started moving through late night traffic in midtown. It was horrible, in many ways but mostly because she couldn't stop the bombardment of memories of this time last year. Never once had a ride been so tense, so quiet, so reserved. Part of her wished she'd taken up Keon's offer instead of this. At least she would be guaranteed not to be thinking about Helen 100% of the time; there was bound to be a few minutes at least as they rolled around naked in her hotel room that Helen probably wouldn't be on her mind.

 

The 20-minute ride seemed to pass in no time and Helen tipped the driver quickly before following Carol inside the luxury hotel. She fell into step naturally beside Carol, as if they had magically become friends again. Or for the first time, since friendship had never been something they truly had before. Was it even possible to be friends with someone who you had been so in love with at one point in time? Or was that just some invention of more well-adjusted people with better therapists?

 

Helen entered the elevator, her burgundy dress swishing in a way that would have been enticing had there not been so much stress on her shoulders. She held the door until Carol crept in, trying her best not to be too obviously uncomfortable. She pressed her floor and waited for Carol.

 

“33,” Carol stated, pleased at how her voice didn't waver at all. Alcohol seemed to swim more noticeably in her veins as the doors closed softly with a small chime. Something was pressing down on them, suffocating, buzzing. Part of her body trembled with fear, but there was a twinge of another feeling, something that had been dormant for too long. Her breath caught in her throat as the floors kept rising in number. If she was honest, she wasn't sure if her imagination was playing tricks but Helen seemed particularly on edge the longer they rode up.

 

Finally, the elevator chimed at the 33  rd  floor. As the doors slid open, Carol froze. Her limbs felt like lead, and her chest tightened. Longing. It had been so long she wasn't even sure that she was capable of it but as it mixed in with nostalgia, regret, and desire, the cloud that had been hanging over her all week—and especially at the bar just now—suddenly made more sense. Taking a step towards her room, she paused. Two steps and she'd be on her floor, the elevator would close behind her, and everything that had and had not just happened would eventually disappear.

 

The clawing ache in her body resisted however and she stood, motionless, just on the threshold of the doors. With another ding, they closed again and she sucked in a deep breath as the lift resumed its ascent. Helen said nothing behind her, but the air itself seemed to pulse with a frenetic heartbeat to match her own. She couldn't dare turn around to see the expression on Helen's face. It was much safer to stand, perfectly still like a statue and wait for the inevitable blast of reality when they hit 42.

 

It came too quickly and the churning knots in her stomach hadn't even remotely calmed down by the time Helen breezed past her and onto the 42  nd  floor. “Nightcap?”

 

That seemed like an invitation, although it hadn't exactly been extended with any particular kindness. There was something that remained very closed off about Helen, very apprehensive, and really, it wasn't like Carol could really blame her. If the roles had been the other way around, of course she would have been somewhat wary of her intentions. Although, frankly, Carol figured her immediate intentions were crystal clear. (The expectations of whatever came after remained a mystery even to her.)

 

Before she even had the chance to mess up the keycard, Helen handed it over. Of all the things they'd said and done and pretended to ignore the entire night, this was somehow the most intimate. It was something that was specifically _them_ , something nobody else on earth shared with them. And it was so cavalier, unconscious, habitual as if they'd been doing it their whole lives. Because Helen didn't hesitate to offer up the key, and Carol didn't even pause for a second when it was waved in her direction.

 

It broke her heart, just a little tiny bit as she swiped it through the reader. Suddenly everything that had been missing from her life in the last few months became more clear than at any other point the entire night.

 

Nothing felt as good as having someone know you like that, and knowing them as well.

 

That longing pull, the fucking broken ache inside her, was roaring with regret over everything that could never be changed.

 


	6. platform diving

The minibar was running low and the quiet lull of CNN on the hotel TV gave the whole suite a kind of relaxed, casual vibe. Or maybe that was due to the empty Patron and Grey Goose bottles on the desk, and the fact that they were almost through another joint. Her shoes were tossed somewhere else, maybe near the door? Maybe in the bathroom. She couldn't exactly remember but her purse was probably with them, and Helen's shoes too.

 

It would have been a really lovely, perfectly pleasant night as they sat on the sofa, sharing stories about their networks and colleagues and sipping straight liquor. It could have been. They could have been great friends, sitting really close (too close, really), lolling around in a luxury suite and shooting the shit. They could have been laughing together and just living in that moment, in those jovial feelings. But with all the history, it would never be possible. And that sinking awareness of being smothered under all the weight of unsaid words and, at least in Carol's case, what amounted to actual literal craving.

 

She couldn't decide where she wanted Helen's fingers most: trailing down her thigh, tangled in her hair, or inside her. And her mouth... Where would that be best? On her lips, softly on her forehead, her neck, lower? Every inch of skin felt hot and uncomfortable, like she needed to be touched immediately. But she sat, slowly sipping the tequila and making stupid work small talk with a woman who used to make her hoarse several times a week. At least.

 

The worst part of it all was that Helen, other than the chilled demeanour and her bare feet tucked up under her on the sofa, seemed completely unaffected by the entire situation. It was truly as if she had completely moved on from whatever sordid, sweaty history was between them. Surely that would be a good thing had Carol wanted to move on as well, but, even surprising to herself, she had found out that, in fact, she didn't like reality as it was currently structured. She wanted to go back in time.

 

It was made worse by the fact that during their conversation here, something heavy seemed to evaporate as Helen spoke about her new job, with legitimate happiness. All the time, Carol had been clinging to regret and guilt about how she felt she'd forced Helen into the new network, how it had been her own failures (as an employee, as a soon-to-be mother, as a human being) that had effectively forced Helen to choose between Carol and a job she had loved—and of course she'd chosen Carol. In a heartbeat. But as Helen now went on about how much more freedom she had in charge of a streaming network, how the future was so much more friendly to digital content, how broadcast networks were stubborn dinosaurs destined to go extinct, it seemed as if she had actually made the better choice. She was happy, fulfilled. And whatever blame Carol had piled on herself about Helen's choice slowly lifted. With the dissolving of leathery guilt she'd hung onto for so long, there was a creeping nostalgia coming back.

 

“Man, last year was so different,” Helen mused, almost to herself as she blew out a big cloud of smoke. (She never gave a shit about non-smoking rooms in hotel suites. Weed was an exemption to the rule in her world.)

 

Carol nodded, absently. “I was pregnant,” she agreed. Do people ever get over miscarriages? Even when she knew it was a relief, and really, it was for the best there was still something dark about the whole ordeal that made her just slightly sad at times. Her shrink mentioned that maybe it wasn't so much about the loss of the pregnancy as it was more about the loss of the relationship in the aftermath. Carol couldn't decide if that was even close to the truth but it was times like this that made her believe it 100%.

 

Helen passed the remaining joint over to Carol before chuckling to herself. “You know what's really crazy?” She took a drink of her tequila as well, clearing her palate from the smoke. “I think I can tell you now because it's in the past now.” Wow, Helen must be drunk.

 

“So, last year,” the older woman began, staring off to the wall and after a minute began to giggle. Yeah, that was probably this particularly strong kush from her son. “I actually...” She laughed a little louder and it became strangely contagious even though Carol had no idea what the joke was. “You know that afternoon I went out to lunch with what's his name from ABC? Fuck, whatever his name is. Doesn't matter.”

 

Carol did, sort of. All the days sort of blended into one whirlwind week but she could vaguely remember when Helen had to do some sort of meeting with some ABC producers. That was probably the longest they'd been apart the entire week. She nodded silently.

 

“Ha, well, I was wandering around after and I bought you a ring.” Helen guffawed even louder, but part of her seemed uncomfortable with the sudden revelation.

 

“What?” Carol's voice came out much softer than she expected considering how furiously her blood was pumping.

 

Helen shrugged and looked away. “It's not like I was gonna do anything. I had no immediate plans, obviously. But... it looked perfect for you and I thought maybe sometime in the future. After the baby. You know...” A long sigh escaped and she shook her head. “Why the fuck did I just tell you that?”

 

The younger woman was still stuck on the basic concept. “Like an engagement ring?” During that conversation in the law firm bathroom, they'd agreed to take it slow. Really slow. Helen picking out a fucking engagement ring a few months in was nothing remotely close to “slow”. Granted, Carol had no idea it even existed, even in the months that followed, she'd never had any clue that somewhere in some drawer or closet or box there was a ring waiting for her. _Eventually_.

 

Finally turning to her, Helen sighed. “I just... _hoped._ ” She laughed again. “It sounds really stupid now.”

 

There was an overwhelming part of Carol's mind that screamed at her: _No. It doesn't_ . But rationally, she knew it was crazy. Only insane people proposed marriage after two months. Only insane people even thought about marriage so early, after so much previous trouble.

 

Only a crazy person wouldn't want to marry someone who loves them, supports them, sticks with them even when the worst shit happens, wants to spend the rest of their life with them, makes them laugh, wants to share every good thing possible with them, genuinely finds them interesting and intelligent and lovable, tells them so, defends them when necessary, listens, challenges them and tells the truth, gives up their own safe career for them... Carol could go on. She desperately tried to remember all the reasons it didn't work out in the long run because she needed the reminder. Otherwise all those mushy feelings coupled with the flat-out lust she'd been experiencing since sitting down at that bar were going to rush out in a very detrimental way for her own long-term sanity.

 

Perhaps it was the weed and the booze and the loneliness all in one horrible, messy ball but the idea, at this precise moment, didn't sound stupid at all. All she had ever wanted was to love someone and have them love her back just as much.

 

“Fuck it,” Carol whispered, giving up on her own sense of self-preservation in light of the roiling emotions pulsing through her veins.

 

Luckily, it didn't require any thinking at all. She knew Helen's body almost as well as she knew her own; she knew her mind as well. Her hands scrunched tightly in brown hair, crushing their lips together— _finally_ . All night, this is all she'd really wanted: to feel close again, to be wanted, to be _with_ her. There was the sound of a few stitches tearing and she knew her expensive, tight dress was the exact opposite of what she should be wearing to be straddling an ex-girlfriend.

 

Warm, strong hands pulled her closer and Helen's mouth was hot, receptive to every fucking kiss.

“Oh, thank fucking god,” the older woman groaned as Carol pulled back for a second, shoulders heaving already. It turned out that really Helen had just been patiently waiting for Carol to make the first move because the floodgates were opened, and suddenly there were desperate hands, grabbing, pulling, digging in to her skin and Helen's lips moving purposefully down her her neck. The blonde moaned, unrestrained and pushed Helen back into the sofa cushions.

 

It was all a flurry of fingers, and lips, and arms, and hips. Carol couldn't even keep track of what was happening because it was so much of everything she fiercely _needed_ , and had been aching for for way too long. Only as Helen pulled the zipper of her fancy little dress down and the cooler air hit the feverish skin of her body did Carol pause. She sucked in a deep breath and for a second, and doubted what she was doing.

 

But instead of pushing, Helen waited, quietly, aside from their laboured breathing. She placed a soft kiss against the younger woman's collarbone. It was so gentle, so juxtaposed to the last few minutes. Carol let her own hands loosen and fall softly onto Helen's shoulders instead. For just a moment, Carol's shoulders slumped and she forgot about the hopeless, quivering hunger elsewhere in her body as she inhaled deeply. Everywhere was Helen: her touch, scent, sounds. Her eyes slipped shut and simply savoured the feeling of being held closely and touched almost adoringly. Although sex hadn't been exactly a stranger in her life since, the intimacy—like _real_ intimacy—had been. And for some reason, absolutely nothing in her life had matched the way Helen held her like this.

 

She sucked in a deep breath, quietly, her hands clenching just a little around Helen's shoulders and felt the older woman's mouth slowly move along her collarbone and back up along her pulse point. Carol's head tilted back unconsciously as she closed her eyes. The moment passed into the ether as her hips rolled against Helen of their own accord and a buzz of pleasure raced up her spine.

 

There was a definite groan as their lips met once again, and again, as Helen pulled down Carol's dress to her waist. Any more than that was impossible given their position. Soon she grew impatient, writhing on Helen's lap and clambered off ineloquently, and pulled down her own dress, standing in the hotel wearing nothing but her underwear. It took a minute of Helen just watching her before she stood up too, and Carol was there, her hands pulled deliberately at Helen's dress as well. Everything inside her was rioting, leaping, like a fucking fireworks show.

 

Sometime between the moment her dress hit the floor and they made their way into the bedroom of the suite, everything else was lost and Carol's heart hammered heavily in her chest and her body was on fire. Each inch of her exposed skin simultaneously felt hot and covered in waves of goosebumps. The intoxication of the tequila and pot came a distant second to the sound of Helen's heavy breathing, the taste of smoke on her tongue and the scent of her perfume, sweat, and arousal. It hit her nostrils and triggered every alarm bell inside her, but in the sort of way where she felt like running full speed towards the danger instead.

 

They stumbled onto the bed, hurriedly pushing aside the duvet, a tornado of impulse and desire, with some deep relief mixed in as every other shred of clothing was tossed aside. Helen's body was so soft on top of her, each curve matching her own with precision. She bit down, just barely, on the brunette's bottom lip. A growl thundered from Helen's toes to her throat and the vibration sent a flurry of shivers over Carol's arms and neck. Without thinking, not that anything was ever thought out, Carol arched up, wrapping her bare legs around Helen. The aura of heat between her legs met taut muscle of a toned thigh and she moaned loudly, unconcerned with how unabashedly wanton she likely sounded as Helen's mouth nipped down her neck again.

 

This was Helen Basch: the imposing powerhouse of a woman who had once simultaneously terrified and awed her, and then was the best sex of her life, then the only person she was absolutely certain had ever deeply and truly loved her. There was literally no reason to withhold a single thing from her.

 

Everything was suddenly overwhelming her with sensation and memory but instead of freezing up, she dove in. Like when she was little and her brother took her to the MSU pool open day, and she stood on the edge of the diving platform. To her brain, it looked like a terribly long way to fall. But standing there toes curling over the concrete edge, her heartbeat raced and her limbs trembled and every sound from below seemed to echo loudly all around her. Her nerves, and every single part of her body begged her to inch backwards to safety. Back then, she'd taken a deep breath and leapt from the ledge.

 

It was basically the same thing now. Basically. The anticipation was deadly, the fall was just as petrifying and freeing at the same time, but the landing so, _so_ much better. This time, there wasn't just cold water to counteract gravity but soft hands, and wet lips, and skin so smooth, and the coursing rush of adrenaline didn't stop at the water's edge. It just kept building inside her, more and more, craving, pulling, gripping the remaining bit of sanity there was until she found herself moving slowly and meticulously down Helen's prone body. She kissed a trail over her clavicle, a breast, spent time drawing yet another moan as she took on hardened nipple into her mouth and Helen's fingers grabbed onto her hair.

 

And then further down until she could smell pure woman, and taste it on her tongue like so many fucking months ago when things were better and she was happier. She inhaled deeply, feeling a little lightheaded but whether that was the tequila or dope or Helen, or maybe all three at once, she couldn't decide. Whatever it was, it was like a drug. The worst kind. The sort that draws you in with promises, grips you in its claws and never, ever lets go. God, she was so wet.

 

 _Fuck_ .

 

There was something that overruled common sense and logic and all those reasonable things that adults are supposed to engage with every second of the day because as she ran her tongue flatly through Helen's folds, she suddenly had the epiphany that perhaps she was indeed an addict now. It seemed so crass a thing to be but to her, it wasn't just about the physical act or gratification itself. For once, it wasn't just about her. Something about her arched back, hips meeting her mouth, the taste, the fingers trapped and tangled in her hair, the way Helen's chest heaved and her breath came out in a multitude of gasps, small moans, and whispers of pleading curses and Carol's name, all of that was addictive. It was about pleasure, and giving it.

 

Sure, Carol Rance could trademark People Pleaser with the sheer amount of bullshit she could churn out on any given day but this was different. How could it not be? Moving her tongue rhythmically against Helen's clit in a way that caused her to buck and grind against Carol wasn't the same as faking interest in some writer's ugly, boring children to get a long-term development deal. Sliding two fingers inside the softest yet most powerful woman she knew and feeling how that same woman just fucking melted at her touch wasn't the same as aggressively finessing some overpaid talent agent to snag their star client for an exclusive network contract. Her whole chest clenched at the soft gasping moan Helen made.

 

Her indefatigable greed for personal business gain and painfully phony work persona had nothing on the rush she got just from making Helen come, the harder and wilder the better. It was more powerful and gratifying than any 8-figure cross-platform advance ad commitment. Mostly because she knew it simply: she was in love. With Helen.

 

That was it. There had been a time when she was in love with money, power, recognition and ambition. There had even been many times she'd been in love with dominant men who represented all those things, and in fact, she'd bent over backwards (often literally) just to faintly brush the golden ticket.

 

Somehow hearing the word “Scrunch” choked out like a prayer replaced the charge she used to get at the sight of some big client signing their name on the dotted line. The mantra of “Oh god, Carol, please,” as Helen writhed against her sent shivers of satisfaction to her core the way a half-assed pseudo-compliment from Elliot Salad used to. Everything else paled in comparison to Helen. She still retained her ambition but feeling Helen's thighs tremble, or that gentle burst of warm liquid as Helen involuntarily clenched around her fingers at the peak, widened the spectrum of what mattered.

 

But it wasn't just about amazing sex and the giving and receiving of incredible orgasms. Everything that happened before and after was just as instrumental. Like, when Helen kissed her deeply and with something akin to reverence almost, ran a soothing hand over her shoulders, genuinely laughed at her bad jokes, took her hand in public, made her breakfast exactly the way she liked it, listened to her complaints about anything and everything, all of it. Basically everything that was now missing.

 

As she slowly moved up, hovering over Helen's quivering body in the aftermath, she noticed something new and not particularly good. The older woman's eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed and lips set in a tight line. If regret could been seen physically on someone's face, that was perhaps what was visible now. Like a ghost, it seemed to pass in a few seconds and two minutely trembling hands cupped her face, pulling her down to kiss her again. It felt as though Helen was holding back.

 

The strange unease of the previous moments began to dissipate the longer they stayed together, kissing, touching, sharing the same breaths. Had it been 10 months ago, Carol likely would have murmured two very specific words at this point. _Love you_ . It seemed like a completely foreign concept now although there was no less truth in them. _Still love you_ . But the words stuck in her mouth, at the back of her tongue, like swallowing glue. Her chest ached at their absence. _I'm sorry_ .

 

Under her, Helen didn't appear to even notice that anything was missing but her hands and lips were still purposefully roving all over every inch her skin. She grabbed at Carol's hips, prompting a gasp as Carol ground down against her thigh again before swiftly rolling the younger woman onto her back. A rush of cold air breezed over her as Helen sat up, smirking as she reached for a hair tie. There was a glint of something in her brown eyes that Carol had almost forgotten existed and Helen seemed genuinely relaxed and happy for perhaps the first time all evening. It made her breath catch in her throat at the sight above her.

 

As her blood pumped harder and Helen intently kissed a trail over her stomach, she stood at the top of that diving platform again. And jumped.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was something buzzing somewhere. Off and on. Over and over. Carol groaned, squinting through sleep and blinked a few times as she licked her dry lips and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. It wasn't until she sighed loudly that she figured out it was her phone, on the carpet somewhere and somebody moved in the bed beside her, just a little. The hangover currently tearing at her head lifted just for a moment as something akin to fear flooded her veins. Then she realised exactly whose hotel suite and bed she was occupying.

 

Her phone ceased its incessant, irritating vibration for the time being and she took a moment to glance over at Helen's sleeping form. Her chestnut hair was coming loose from the hastily tied bun and Carol resisted the urge to touch her. Instead, she slipped back under the blankets and settled down to stare at the back of Helen's head and her bare shoulders. Despite the throbbing headache and the tiniest hint of nausea, she felt overwhelming bliss. After everything, after the miscarriage and the collapse of their relationship and all the guilt, after months of self-doubt and loneliness, they'd ended up here again.

 

The heaviness was gone and took that gnawing darkness with it. Maybe this time they could be together without all the bullshit because it worked really well; it was just the unplanned pregnancy and its consequences that fucked them up. Of course, for the rest of the week, they'd still keep their separate rooms. They were paid for after all. But then back in L.A., they'd have to work it out all over again but she found herself giddy with the thought of spending long nights on Helen's plush sofa and waking up on Saturdays to go hiking in the park in the sunshine with her. Her heart beat faster imagining how it would feel to come home to that black Lexus in the driveway again. Home. Yeah, she wanted a home with Helen again.

 

Shifting closer, she reached out slowly and ran a finger over the tiny, sparse moles dotting Helen's shoulder, connecting them like a constellation. She used to call it her little dipper. Once, she believed she'd never see Helen like this again and now she could feel the gentle rise and fall of her body right next to her.

 

A quiet groan fluttered out from Helen's side of the bed, not irritated by any means but certainly sleepy. Slowly, a hand came up to grab onto Carol's softly, giving her a small squeeze.

 

“Morning, Katie.”

 

The words sounded sleep-addled sure, but pleased. Maybe even more than pleased: blissful. It fucking killed her. Carol could feel her shoulders tense, her arms tighten to rigid, heavy logs, and her throat convulse just a little more than her mild hangover should inspire.

 

“What?” It was all she could squeak out under the circumstances. Because maybe she'd misheard. Maybe Helen was just dreaming. That would be pretty shitty but somewhat reasonable. She could handle that.

 

As if she was burned, Helen dropped Carol's hand and tensed. Carol could just see the muscles straining across her shoulders and there was obviously a confused moment of recognition. The silence stretched out slowly between them and the longer it persisted, the more anxiety churned up inside her stomach. Had it been a simple slip of the tongue, they wouldn't be lying in oppressive quiet as each tried to think of some way out of the awkwardness.

 

“Shit.” Helen's voice was apologetic but twinged with disappointment as well as she rolled over to peer at her bedmate. “Sorry.”

 

Deflated yet clinging onto the last shreds of hope, Carol offered a timid smile. “Morning?”

 

“Morning.” Tentatively, Helen reached out and touched Carol's burning cheek, too fleetingly to be of much comfort. Something her eyes was darker than usual but glimmered with the build up of tears, maybe. It could be what those were.

 

“I'm sorry,” Helen said again, her voice cracking a little on the whispered words. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the speckled hotel ceiling, clasping her hands over her face. “Fuck.”

 

A single syllable is all it took. A pain shot through her chest and she winced at its familiarity. Somewhere else, deep in the recesses of broken hope, something screamed but she buried it under a rapidly beating heart.

 

It always seemed so unfair how it took whole sentences, paragraphs, poems, treatises even, to start something but only a few words to end them. Usually it wasn't quite as crude, but it was always simple: _We're done. It's over. I can't do this. Get out. Goodbye_. _Fuck_. When goodbyes and breakups took more than a few words, it was just indulgent waste because everyone understood it well enough by a look, a sigh, a nod or a single sound. The less time spent on it the better. Hell, half of her one night stands took no words at all to end. Even some of her shittier actual relationships.

 

She can't say that she'd ever done it while still naked lying next to the person, long-winded speeches or not. For some reason, she could only think of that first morning when she'd cautiously stepped into the huge designer kitchen and they'd gone back and forth about whether she should go on the hike or not. Carol could still remember the way Helen's voice lowered just a little on the words, “I want you to stay.” It was only now that Carol realised she had meant _forever_ . But not anymore.

 

The blonde shifted under the duvet slightly, trying to remember where exactly they'd thrown her clothes the night before. It would be just a little humiliating no matter how she attempted to make her escape.

 

“We shouldn't have done this,” Helen groaned, finally letting her hands fall away from her face. There was a haze of apology on her face, something like regret but with... longing? Maybe that was just Carol's wishful imagination.

 

“Really?” Honestly, Carol couldn't understand why not. They were both single; they were compatible. They knew each other inside and out, and Helen was perhaps the only person Carol could see herself with now. There'd been lapses in-between their relationships that she'd thought it possible to move on. Once, Merc Lapidus leapt in and stole her attention for a while with nice words, weed, and take-out dinners. After weeks of depression and misery, he'd seemed like sunshine and something fresh. (It was all a nasty trick after all was said and done and she could still remember that between getting upset with Beverly and pissed off with Merc, she'd still missed Helen. Not necessarily in a explicitly obvious way but it was more something that lurked below the surface and came out in those hazy half-awake morning dreams.

 

Even this time, even after she'd been the one to end the pain and stress of the dark place they'd fallen into, her attempts to move on had often started enthusiastically but pathetically petered out within a few weeks at best, if she was lucky. They had no staying power because, really, deep inside her, there was no room yet. Someone else still occupied the space that was meant for new relationships.

 

Finally, last night, none of that bothered her anymore. There was no shadow of failure, no nerves, no gaping hole of regrets, no repressed emotions, and a sense of wholeness. Yeah, wholeness.

 

But apparently that was not a shared feeling.

 

Without caring about morning breath or rejection itself, Carol crawled forward just an inch or two. When her lips touched Helen's, there was no resistance and she felt a sigh against her lips. For a moment, Helen kissed her back, slowly, like savouring a dessert. Her heart flickered just enough with the excitement of what her acceptance could mean. But in no time, Carol was left face to face with nothing but cool morning air.

 

“This isn't fair.” Helen's voice was broken, quiet. She touched a fingertip to her lip absently before she realised what she'd done.

 

“Why?” Everything seemed to be working. And fair. They'd both suffered, both dumped the other, both taken chances, both longed, both failed at moving on. Her question likely sounded petulant, ignorant even but honest.

 

A scoff escaped Helen's mouth and she looked at the ceiling momentarily. “I loved you so much,” she finally breathed out, glancing over to make eye contact. “ _So_ much. You have no idea.”

 

The use of past tense was not lost on Carol.

 

“I would have spent the rest of my life with you and—and you broke me. I wrecked you once, you broke me once. We can't—we can't do it again.” She sighed, the saddest sound Helen had ever made. “You know that too.”

 

A hot, burning sensation began prickling at the corners of her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to stem the tide before it began. “Then why did you do this?” Surely Carol couldn't be expected to shoulder all of the blame for this mistake.

 

Silence stretched out slowly, and the longer it went on, the more Carol could feel the pulse of pressure building in her veins, throbbing in her head.

 

“I just broke—You were a rebound.” It must have felt just as odious in Helen's mouth as she said the words because she made a face of sheer regret. But, the truth? It fucking hurt. Because they both knew it, on some level.

 

Carol swallowed. It was all she could do to distract herself from the sweep of unpleasant emotions bubbling up through her chest. Getting out as soon as possible was the only thing on her mind.

 


	7. walk of shame

She barely even clocked the man in the elevator as she slipped past the doors and into the corner. It was too excruciating, not only to be doing a walk of shame at her age, but especially after having been rejected so bluntly just minutes before she'd haphazardly pulled on her discarded dress and shoes. There were times in her life where Carol had felt low, like really fucking low, and this definitely was in the running for number one. That time Helen dumped her on the hill and made her strip sucked a lot, and then when she basically broke down in tears after being kicked off The Box stage. That awful time in between then and the law firm bathroom. Those were particular lowlights. The miscarriage—also very, very low. That first time she was fired for sleeping with the boss, Ed. Losing out on her dream job because she'd believed in her dumbass happily ever after with Merc? Wow. She had _a lot_ of lowlights. There were probably about 300 more to consider as viable competition for this exact moment of bleak clarity.

 

But there was something about heartbreak, and especially the tossing of hope against sharp rocks, that made things seem that much worse.

 

Avoiding any sort of eye contact, she quickly stabbed at the button for the 33rd  floor only to hear a rueful sort of chuckle under her elevator companion's breath.

 

“Long night too?”

 

For the first time, she glanced over and took in his rumpled designer suit, scruffy facial hair, bedhead, and purple silk tie clenched in a ball in one hand. He had a cheeky twinkle in his light brown eyes all the same, like he was in on some secret she didn't know yet.

 

“Something like that, yeah.” Out of habit, she brushed hair back from her face and hoped it didn't look like she was trying to look pretty for him. She wasn't. But being a dishevelled mess in front of someone who was likely an industry colleague couldn't be good for the brand. Ugh, the brand of what? Rejected bisexual disaster? Incompetent network boss? Sad, sad, forever lonely idiot from Michigan? The elevator dinged as the doors closed.

 

He leaned over a bit. “At least it's more like a 10-second ride of shame rather than a long walk.”

 

Off her pissed off glare, he shrugged. “Hey, no judgment. I'm with you on it. Nothing like getting shot down the morning after by your boss to make you feel like a real star.”

 

Over-sharing. Okay. New. Good-looking too, she noticed offhand. The elevator slowed on the 39th  floor and doors opened, causing the ride to take longer than she'd wanted. Her new, morning after friend moved over to her corner and leaned down as the new rider took his place, all sharp and clean. A true professional.

“Ryan Jameson, like the whiskey,” he whispered to her and held out his hand. She knew the name for some reason and she wracked her business mind for the reason. Oh, he was in Digital Marketing at NBC. His boss was... Oh. For a moment, her heart sank a little because it had felt good after the morning she'd had to think someone was flirting with her. Maybe it came across on her face as she idly shook his hand wondering how she always attracted gay men and old perverts.

 

To cover her disappointment, her voice hit a high note. “Carol—”

 

“Rance. I know.” He was still grinning at her in that way she was accustomed to when people were flirting and it didn't really make much sense. It could be the hangover that was getting in the way of reasoned thought, or just heartache. She could still smell his lingering cologne from the night before and something about the spicy scent put her at ease for the first time since Helen awoke.

 

Slipping her his business card, he smiled again. “I'll be getting breakfast at 10 downstairs. You're welcome to join me. Lick our wounds together.”

 

The elevator lurched to a stop at the 33rd  floor and she sucked in a deep breath. “We'll see,” she said, trying to force a smile. Part of her welcomed the sincere, congenial attention whether or not he was interested in her but her chest continued to ache and hope for impossibilities all the same. The doors slid open and she gave Ryan one last glance: he was cute, nice. Sure, why not? She let the doors close and she wandered dejected, back to her empty suite but with a glimmer of something else growing in her belly.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, babe, you got anymore toothpaste?” Ryan's voice called out from her bathroom as a cascade of pill bottles and lotions clamoured onto the floor. A few terse curse words slithered out from amongst the chaos. Carol rolled her eyes, sitting in bed, hair up in a scrunchie and flipping absently through her emails for the next day.

 

“Bottom drawer,” she shouted back distractedly as a text message popped up from Andy.

 

_[ Did you hear? ]_

 

She fucking hated when he started conversations like that, although that was probably the only way he ever did open a discussion. It was very possible he had no other way. The thing about Andy was that he never gave a hint beforehand; he loved the chase.

 

_[ No. ]_

 

It was easier just to give in right away rather than guess or ask about what specifically.

 

_[ Omg Helen got engaged to that bitch Kate Sheridan today! ]_

 

Why the hell would she ever want to know this? Not only was the sting from the rejection 4 weeks ago still floating around in her mind every so often--even with this new thing with Ryan at the forefront--but Helen's personal love life really had nothing to do with her. After that morning at the upfronts, her attendance at non-essential events dropped off precipitously, mostly to avoid Helen but also because she had Ryan to entertain her instead. They were mutual distractions to their respective failed one-night stands. Since then, she'd had to talk with her on the phone once, and it was curt, but polite. Otherwise, they had no reason to even associate. She hadn't even known they were back together. Carol couldn't even think of anything to say to Andy in return, but that had never stopped him before.

 

_[ Apparently they got back together at the upfronts!! Did you know? ]_

 

 _[ No. ]_ The only thing she knew about Helen then was how it felt to kiss her that night, how it felt to have her mouth all over her body, how she woke up in the morning happier than she had been in months. And then how awful it all went, how she avoided Helen at every chance for the rest of the week, instead latching onto Ryan like a life-raft.

 

At the moment, she could only remember Helen's admission about the fucking engagement ring and how it was supposed to be them spending their lives together. She wondered if Helen had finally found a use for that same ring she'd bought for Carol last year. God, that hurt the most.

 

_[ Isn't it crazy?!!?! ]_

 

Carol had to remind herself that she was happy now. She had a man who, although he may not be as deeply in love with her as Helen was (if he was in love at all), he was nice and kind and fun and the sex was good. And not a coworker. He was her perfect bisexual, boss-loving soultwin. She couldn't quite bring herself to see him as a soulmate. As he crawled under the covers next to her, she sighed and stared at her phone screen. Staring over at Ryan, she wondered if maybe she should get married too. It seemed to be the thing to do, and really, if it didn't work she could always get a divorce. Those were also pretty trendy these days.

 

 _[ Sure is ]_ She wished she could say more, actually really talk about it. The only person for that still was Beverly and she was out of town for a few days. _[ See you tomorrow Andy ]_ She placed the phone down, and tried to ignore it. Maybe if she could forget the phone existed, she could forget the texts that had just come through too.

 

An hour after they'd turned out the lights, Carol was still lying wide awake in bed as Ryan breathed deeply beside her, a snore punctuating the silence every so often. Everything else seemed louder. There was a blue glow from her right and she was reminded constantly about the text messages sitting in that stupid plastic box. By tomorrow morning at least 3 people in the office would mention it to her as if she should have some opinion, or breakdown about it. One was obviously Andy because a few typed characters on a screen wouldn't have been enough to satisfy him. Cathy from down the hall, yes, she'd drop all sorts of hints. And of course, Jeremy, one of Helen's old admin assistants who seemed to have an unhealthy preoccupation with his former executive charge and it made total sense that Helen didn't take him with her and Patti when they left for Hulu.

 

She goddamn hated this. She hated lying awake at night with her stomach clenching and twisting, and her breathing shallow and short, and the heavy pressure of silence crushing her ears. What she couldn't stand the most was how even after all this time, the person keeping her up at night wasn't Ryan; it was Helen. It was like she'd burrowed under her skin years ago and no amount of scratching and tearing and bleeding would ever wash her away. For better or worse, Helen was in her veins as much as her own blood.

 

 _For better or worse_...

 

Careful not to wake her snoring boyfriend, she slipped out slowly from under the blankets and crept over to her dresser. The bottom drawer slid open with barely a sound and she reached into the back, her hand grasping at soft fabric and tugging. When she squinted through the near dark of her bedroom, there was no indication that Ryan had been disturbed at all and she slunk like a guilty puppy towards her bathroom, gently closing the door with a tiny click. Taking a seat on the side of her bathtub, she held the cloth in both hands, staring at the familiar blue hue. As she clenched her fists around it, she held the shirt to her face, breathing in deeply.

 

She'd never get over Helen at this rate. The t-shirt was losing a bit of the scent of lotion and perfume and laundry detergent and taking on more of that musty smell from sitting in her drawer for so long. Burying her face in the fabric felt embarrassing and so fucking pathetic even if nobody else would ever know. The guilt always picked at the edges of her mind at times like this because there could be nothing more disrespectful and disappointing than being stuck this way on an ex when a wonderful person was waiting and willing to fill that space if only she could make room. The intensity of longing was supposed to have waned by now but although it faded into the shadows most of the time, it was still there, whispering to her at night, tickling her during quiet spells in the day when she'd see something that reminded her.

 

It wasn't really fair. Not to her or the man in the other room but Beverly had said to just keep going and eventually things would shift to a more healthy place. That was fucking _months_ ago.

 

An offering of tears dropped onto the t-shirt, like some sort of sacrifice to the gods of heartbreak as reality sunk in. Helen was gone, for good. Soon to be married to someone else who was smart, mature, had her shit together and wasn't constantly a jumble of anxiety and inexperience. That part of her life was done, no matter how many hours she spent crying into old clothes in her bathroom at 1 AM. And when it came down to it, the only thing that became clear was that they'd never really had a chance. The timing had always been off.

 

She took a staggered breath and wiped a hand over her face. The fabric felt soft, familiar, but heavy with memories and guilt. She inhaled in deeply once more, closing her eyes. After a second of hesitation, she stood up and stared at her red eyes in the mirror, grimacing a bit at what a broken person she saw reflected back. That person would always be in there somewhere in the same way Helen would always lurk in the dark recesses of her heart.

 

A sigh fluttered out, filled with remorse and defeat. As she walked from the quiet, safe isolation of her bathroom, she tossed Helen's t-shirt into her laundry hamper and hoped that would finally be enough.

 


End file.
